


Inoculation

by asuxcaga



Category: Gundam SEED, Gundam SEED Destiny
Genre: AsuCaga, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:22:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25470808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuxcaga/pseuds/asuxcaga
Summary: It is a basic concept; a known fact. Inoculation worked—the act of deliberate infection in order to achieve immunization. But he was still waiting to get better. ASUCAGA ONESHOT. POST GSD.
Relationships: Cagalli Yula Athha/Athrun Zala, Lacus Clyne/Kira Yamato
Comments: 12
Kudos: 10





	Inoculation

**Author's Note:**

> I made a very short spotify playlist you could listen to while reading this fanfic here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4eVWEc8GG4XTw7Pwnhgvje?si=zUsSb7omQHShVzbxkXIpyw

Inoculation

The principle of inoculation is well observed in nature. Species adapt to adversaries when exposed to the harm. Otherwise, how would species attain the knowledge to develop precautions and immunizations?

Even the very concept of exercise relied on this fact. Muscles are worked to exhaustion to the point of swelling. And the pain at the end of a workout becomes a sign that the body is rebuilding itself. Once the body heals, the new muscle it forms is stronger than the one before it. No pain, no gain. Nothing is earned without sacrifice. There is a list of adages as a testament to this.

But perhaps it’s also simply a matter of human nature. Humans walk a tight rope, balancing taking risks and being safe. Too much exposure to pain and it could be lethal. Play it too safe, and you’ll live an empty life. While it is true that exposure empower humanity, this does not come easily. After all, who in their right minds would willingly inflict pain on themselves? Humans are equally geared to choose self-preservation. This too is another reason for human evolutionary success. This is why people did not just all die out.

Now, without much effort put into trying, Athrun Zala is already a well-established masochist in his own right. Too good at following directions, the perfect soldier, an ace, a vessel. He had let men speak through him, let others use him as a mirror. His engagement to Lacus Clyne was a show put in front of other coordinators to give them something to hope for in the future. A beautiful, youthful couple full of promise against the backdrop of a war. And even his involvement with ZAFT had been decided for him by his father. He had to be great. He had to attain excellence. There was no other way as the son of Patrick Zala. No one asked for his opinion. He hardly heard his own voice. And he lived thinking that this was just how things ought to be. He did not know who he was, because he thought he had no right to be anyone but who he is told to be.

But then he met her. This ball of sunshine and relentless passion of a woman aptly named after the word bonfire. Her amber eyes, her golden hair—everything about her was sunkissed. She knew her mind and was never afraid to speak from the heart. She cried when she was hurt. She let things anger her to a fault. But she never lost faith in the good in others and never tired of wearing her heart on her sleeve. She laughed when something amused her—and this happened often. It was never tough to make her happy. She was always finding something to enjoy. This was her strength above all else.

She felt so much all at once. Her face always revealed as much. Helplessly honest. Unapologetically human.

She showed him life; dancing in the rain, spicy food, and sneaking out late at night. The cheeky glances even in the middle of a serious cabinet meeting, their own inside jokes about the old men she had to shake hands with. Then there were all the Earth flavors she introduced him to—spices, herbs, the strongest of alcoholic drinks. There was color everywhere he looked.

At the end of a long day, sometimes she’d pull him inside her bedroom. She would push him on the bed so she could then lay her head on his chest. And she would tease him. She’d say his chest was beating fast again. And he would smile because there was no denying that. He’d close his eyes, run a finger up her arm. He’d feel how smooth her skin is and smell the fragrance of her shampoo. There were no questions then. Only the fact that with her around, his heart could sing in tones he never knew it was capable of—that was the only truth that mattered.

But the shadows came again. And he couldn’t resist the temptation. The guilt he felt was intoxicating. It was the allure of the familiar—a poison he knew too well. In the face of everything good, he chose the twisted and the complicated. He allowed himself to be manipulated again. He let the past tie him down. Because it was always there for him—his last name, his genetics. It was always the easier choice.

And then her love became too good for him, or so he believed. What good was he in her life, he questioned, if all that he is would forever be incompatible? The doubts came—he doesn’t deserve her. Then came the fear—someone else would have her. The fear of her in the arms of another, the day she would finally tell him she had enough of him and all the baggage he carried—he had nightmares about it. But he never told her. Instead he gave her a ring. Desperation masked as a promise. He would come back, he told her. He reenlisted to avoid another war from breaking out, he explained. Even when his own understanding was so poor, he talked as if he had all the answers. Perhaps she could see the turmoil inside him even then.

“Athrun, you don’t have to carry the burden alone,” she told him on the last night they shared together before he left. He could still remember it. “And you’re not your father.”

He pretended to be asleep, his back turned to her. The last he heard from her that night was a quiet ‘I’ll miss you.’

She kissed his shoulder before she fell asleep. He could tell she wanted to stop him.

But her love was the selfless kind and she let him go.

*** *** ***

At the end of the second war, he finally caught a glimpse of himself. Inside him were the wreckage of people, ideas washed up on the shore of his heart. Debris in irreparable condition. But perhaps even scarier was the peace that reigned around him. People rebuilding happiness, starting families, moving on. He watched as the distance between him and everyone else grew.

There would no longer be battles to fight now. There would no longer be any noise to veil the brooding silence in his heart. Who would he be now? Now that everything has settled, all that was left is an Athrun Zala stripped down to the most vulnerable state—devoid of masks to wear, uniforms to fill, or a past to chain around his neck. Conflict was over. Peace has finally come. But not inside him. Never inside him.

In the years since his separation from her, Athrun sought to immunize himself. He chose to return to ORB, despite knowing the humiliation and resistance he would face. The day he reported on base, it was as if all the men and women wanted to spit on his face. He is a man with no honor. Coordinators and ZAFT resent him for his defection, not once but twice. And Naturals and ORB military soldiers had no respect for him, not just for being a Coordinator, but for having abandoned their nation in its time of need. He fought a losing battle. For the first time since the death of his parents, Athrun felt truly alone in the world. Yet he put himself out there and he enlisted in an army that did not need him. He created the noise himself, to distract, to fake it until he makes it. He’ll be immune to it all one day, he thought.

He reported to her office, even when new bodyguards had taken his place. She sat at her usual desk—the same desk they had made love on at one point. She has changed and he could see that. She had given in to the societal standards expected of a leader. She dressed up, grew her hair out. She looked the part and acted the part. But her smile was just as he remembered. Her words were still honest.

“Ah, you’re back,” she smiled. “Took you a while.”

She joked with him. And he smiled back even though he knew that this wasn’t the return he promised her.

“I hope you’ll feel at home here,” she continued as she busily shuffled the papers on her desk. “I’m afraid I have a meeting soon but I’m happy you came by to say hi, Athrun.”

She was always like that, cordial, as if they never exchanged fire. As if he never abandoned her or crucified her for her mistakes as an inexperienced and young new ruler. All of the animosity, gone, like it was never there in the first place. And maybe that’s what bothered him the most—that the hurt she ought to have inflicted on him never came.

He had been at her beck and call whenever she needed advice from a friend and former war comrade. He accompanied her when she took trips to visit Kira and Lacus. She was pleasant to him, warm, like she always had been. But he wouldn’t let himself extend his arm to reach her. It took all of him to stay still. And for a few moments, he even felt as if he had made progress in becoming immune to his feelings for her. But once they had parted and he was back to being alone, he’d find himself shaking, in tears sometimes, as if his body resisted what his mind told it to do, buckling under the tension.

There were days when he drove her around like the good old days when she’d let her chauffeur take a day off. Sometimes in the car she would talk about her work and ask about his.

“I can’t believe I have to fly to Croatia for the fifth time this year to settle the negotiations again. Why can’t the council just make up their mind!” she would share. “Can you believe it?”

Sometimes it would just be small talk: “You’ve never been to see the red sands up north haven’t you? I never took you. Damn! You should visit the hidden caves next time you get a three-day weekend! They’re amazing.”

But he didn’t respond much, afraid of being caught in her gravity again; afraid it would feel too much like the old times and he’d hurt her again. She tried hard to get him to talk. He could tell. But he wouldn’t let himself, even if his soul cried for her. And when she realized there was no getting through to him anymore, she just played songs from her phone—the same songs they used to sing along to. Some songs he introduced her to, some were her old favorites. But the months piled on. The rides became rarer. The few inevitable times he had to give her a ride, she had stopped to bother with the music too. And there was only silence between them—an unsettling one. Not like the one they so comfortably shared before.

He kept his face straight whenever she would walk inside the room. When she would pass by, he saluted like any soldier would even though that was the one exception she reserved for him before he left her. She smiled at him at first. She would stop for small talk and only small talk because she knew he preferred to keep her an arm’s length away from him now. But as time wore on, she simply walked pass him. Perhaps she finally got the message. He became just another soldier to her, he thought. Good. That was what he wanted—to untangle her from him. But he never stopped noticing the fragrant trail of perfume that always followed her after she passes him by. He could tell when she alternated between scents. He could tell when she tried a new one on.

And he counted the days. He counted from the day since he saw her empty ring finger. Time dragged on and on. Every second, every minute. That was what defined his days now—an absence, a loss. And he told himself that he deserved it. It’s what he needed.

So who would he be then, he wondered. If he had nothing left but an empty hand without hers to fit right inside it. He was now stripped bare of everything but of the one undeniable great love that had him crawling back to Earth again and again. It bore a hole in him. Love was never meant to be lonesome. Yet he also knew his place.

There would be no quiet nights alone with her. No taking showers together. There would be no ring on her finger—at least not one from him. She would walk the aisle but the name she would take could never be his. And the dream of family, of little blondes and midnight blue heads running about, vacations by the beach, a home of their own, growing old—all of the scenes he had played in his mind when times were more hopeful—none of it would ever come to life. So he punished himself more.

He broke his bones being around her. His skin burned as she started to entertain other men. He charred his lungs when she talked to him about possibly getting married soon.

But not to worry. One day it’ll all feel fine again, he thought. He’ll get tired of the pain soon enough. He’ll be numb before he could even notice it.

More months passed. The months turned to years.

At a ball, once, he had accompanied her. It was a formal event for diplomats and other sovereigns. She insisted that he dress up too, as a participant and not as part of her security detail. He remembered how she shone that night, under the bright chandeliers, gliding across the marble halls. All the jewels on planet Earth, gathered that day in that single room. Yet she managed to be brighter still.

“Oh, is that Zala?” the whispers would buzz around. “Yes, the son of that villain, Patrick Zala. What is scum like him doing here!”

“He’s my dear friend,” she would stand up for him.

They danced once or twice. She insisted, if only to show him that she had finally perfected her waltz.

The last time they tried to dance, they were in her bedroom barely clothed with only the moonlight to illuminate the room. Athrun had wrapped a loose sheet around Cagalli’s body to serve as her gown. They giggled and giggled at the clumsiness of their impromptu dance.

“Remember that night?” she asked as if reading his mind. She looked up at him.

“Yes,” he replied. He tried hard not to smile recalling the fond memories.

But maybe his face betrayed him because to that she replied: “I never get to see you smile anymore. It’s nice to see it again.”

He stared at her, eyes wide, welling up. In that moment it was just the two of them. The rest of the world ceased to exist. His hand tightened on her. He didn’t know what to do with himself anymore.

“I just hope you know I want nothing more than for you to be happy. It’s all I want,” she said.

The dance ended just as she finished speaking. And he wanted to say something just then to her. Tell her he’s sorry for what he’d done and what he’d become. He felt like he had begun to unravel, tumbling down a hill and that nothing would break his fall. Maybe, he thought, he could take a chance now. Maybe if he just opened his mouth, all the words would come out right. And because it’s Cagalli, maybe she’d understand. She always did, somehow.

Maybe.

But a man had showed up from behind Cagalli, breaking through their atmosphere.

The man stood just as tall as he was. Raven locks and kind eyes. He looked dignified with a decorated sash pinned on his tuxedo like all the royals had. And when he spoke Athrun could tell the man was well-bred and of Cagalli’s world.

“Dear, is this _the_ Athrun? My goodness, I’ve finally managed to catch you. Cagalli told me how kind of a friend you were to her during the war,” The man laid his hand on Cagalli’s back. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” he extended a hand towards Athrun.

“Yes,” Cagalli looked up at the man, wearing a smile that was once only reserved for him. “Athrun Zala. My close friend.”

He smiled when she introduced him. He shook the man’s hand and slowly disappeared in the crowd as he watched the pair go on to dance one song after the other. They looked like they enjoyed themselves.

She seemed happy.

He drank more than usual that night. He knew why of course, but he pretended he didn’t. Nothing hurt more than the truth, after all. They were friends, indeed. And by his own doing.

But he desired her. He yearned for her. She was the one thing that reminded him of his humanity. He managed to keep his life if only as a means to exist in the same lifetime as hers. And she remained there; there to see, to hear, to taste, to touch, to smell—just not his. Not in the way she used to be.

*** *** ***

He never stopped thinking of her.

In the years that followed, it never ended. He would go to work. Converse with his subordinates, coordinate missions and conducted security briefs. Sometimes he would go out and indulge for dinner at whatever new and exciting restaurant would popup next at ORB’s culinary district. Some nights, he would get drunk, or read books by the beach, or watch a movie. He drove and drove, listened to alternative rock music. He would cook way too much curry forgetting he had no one to share it with. Little by little his wardrobe changed, and lines showed up on his face. He was learning to enjoy his own company. He had always been introverted, he thought. Why then was it such an education now to be alone?

Because these were all things he used to do with Cagalli. Because these were little adventures they promised they’d always embark on even as they get older.

Some nights when the grief swelled inside of him, almost ready to rip through his chest, he would be tempted to run back to her. But that would be too convenient, he thought. Too easy for someone past praying for. He was a lost cause. He refused to taint her. So everyday he sought immunization. One day it won’t hurt anymore, he convinced himself.

Kira had asked him once, over a couple of drinks, if he still cared for Cagalli. His answer must’ve been unsatisfactory because Kira nearly grabbed him by the collar if it weren’t for Lacus’ intervention. It was a few months before Cagalli’s wedding to the rich prince from some country—the same guy he met at the ball. Athrun couldn’t remember the details then. Thinking about it was nauseating and the alcohol wasn’t helping.

Kira yelled at him. He called him out for his cowardice. He was too drunk to say anything back. Craven, shell of a man, a disgrace—Kira had unleashed on him. I thought better of you, I respected you, Kira, loosened up by alcohol, had declared bluntly. Kira kept asking why—why he changed, why he wouldn’t let anyone close to him anymore. And he just sat there, accepting his fury. None of what Kira was saying was false.

“I know you, Athrun. You like to think you carry the whole fucking world on your shoulders,” Kira roared at him. “But you think not saying anything would help? What are you doing?”

“I don’t have feelings for her anymore,” he interrupted. He managed to push the drunken claim out of his mouth, but he didn’t look at Kira. He had never said it out loud before. I don’t have feelings for her, it echoed in his head. But of course, it was a lie. He may have become devoid of feeling these days, but never towards her. He never stopped feeling. The longing was always there. The aching too. He still thought of her. He thought of her while in bed alone. He thought of her while surrounded by strangers in a busy intersection.

He never stopped thinking of her.

He just doesn’t talk about it anymore.

He could only guess that took his best friend aback. But that ended the row. Wordlessly Kira just left, Lacus right behind him. Even the ever-benevolent pink-haired songstress couldn’t find it in her to say a word to him but he could feel her gaze at him. She pitied him. It took a while before he and Kira managed to enjoy each other’s company again after that night.

Little by little he learned. He was learning how to simply find a way to fall asleep without wondering if she too was struggling, wide awake, staring at the ceiling. He was learning how to eat his meals without looking up to see if she sat there across him like she used to even on the busiest days. He allowed the seasons to change him. No—he begged for the seasons to change him. But while everything else about him began to morph into someone else he no longer recognized, one truth remained.

Damn it, I love her, he would hear in his head reverberate. _I love her, I love her, I love her._

And he held onto the hope that one day he’ll wake up and it will all feel fine again. He truly did. He’ll be in his body, no longer afraid of every morning that came.

He hoped that one day the inoculation would work. He hoped that in turn for the pain, he’d have a future he could bear. Not happiness, not adventure—he’s past wishing for those. Just a future that he could bear for all the years he would have to live a life without her, that’s all he could ask for.

*** *** ***

Science rules in favor of exposure as a means of immunization. Introducing pathogens in the body in incremental doses to build tolerance worked as a medical principle.

So when he held her hand to help her out of the lavish carriage, he didn’t say a word. He joined the military entourage to the great ORB cathedral, in his complete military uniform. The country put its best foot forward. The whole world was watching. Miles and miles of cheering crowds lined the streets. Everyone celebrated the event. Smiles everywhere, flags waving.

But his heart was underwater.

A grand choir sang as the bride walked the aisle. It was glorious but deafening. At the back pews, he took his place, befitting his insignificance. And when the pastor asked the crowd to ‘speak now or forever hold your peace,’ he swallowed his words like shards of glass in his throat.

At the reception ball, he danced with many women. He let himself dance with every single one who asked if he would. Kira and Lacus were in attendance of course, and other familiar faces from Archangel. But when he tried to recall memories from that time, they all came up blurry. It seemed like such a long time ago. But wasn’t he supposed to have better memory than most, he wondered.

When he stepped out at one of the balconies to breathe in the cold evening air, he found her leaning on the railing, looking up at the moon.

“Oh, hello you,” she greeted when she noticed him approaching.

He bowed slightly, as was the formality required of him when interacting with the sovereign. Quietly he took his place next to her, swirling the champagne that he brought along with him.

“Where have you been, Athrun?” she spoke, softly, as if she was merely talking to herself.

“What do you mean, ma’am,” he spoke.

“I’m still standing at the same spot where you left me, you know,”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he lied.

“I am easy to find, Athrun,” she spoke acknowledging everything that he wasn’t saying. She wasn’t crying. But there were tears in her voice. “So where have you been?”

But he didn’t reply. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. He wouldn’t know the answers to her questions. Or perhaps he didn’t want to admit even to himself.

“I better go back in,” she said, turning to face him. He could see her eyes glimmering in his periphery. And it took all of him to finally turn his body to face her.

“Congratulations, by the way,” he told her, with a quiet voice and a smile that could fool anyone except her.

“Thank you,” she returned with a smile before she was swallowed back in by the noise of the hall, leaving him behind in the vacuum of the night.

She didn’t look back to check if he would follow her. Not anymore.

Towards the end of the night, he saw her and her new husband. He dutifully had his arm out for her to hold. They were thanking guests, posing for pictures, looking and playing the part of the most famous couple on Earth. This was the future he could never give her.

They look good together.

They’re the perfect match, he decided.

Good, he thought. Now she has it—the support of her people, a satisfied cabinet, an agreeable and suitable choice for a husband; peace.

He’d done his part.

He did the right thing.

They were never meant to be happy together.

For a while he convinced himself it worked. The years of pain was finally working its way down his system. He was growing numb. He didn’t flinch anymore when the newly wed embarked on public outings. He had even managed to allow himself short-lived flings with one or two women who had time to kill.

That one day she had specifically called for him, he dutifully complied. She called for him inside her office. Kira was there too, with Lacus and their children. They had dinner like the four of them used to. It was all normal, except it wasn’t. Her husband joined them later on. He seemed amicable. He made her laugh.

Right before the night ended, she broke the news to them that she was expecting. Kira was delighted that he was finally becoming an uncle. Lacus was just as excited. Her children would finally have a cousin. Her husband was practically in tears. She surprised all of them. And he joined in the chorus of congratulations before he abruptly said his goodbyes.

The next time he saw her was along the hallways of her estate. She was glowing, her due date approaching. Her husband implored her not to work as much as she used to, he overheard. She laughed at her husband’s doting and sweetly promised him she would cut back on work.

And then the day finally came that unusually cold October afternoon. She had given birth safely and the newborn was peacefully sleeping in the bassinet next to her bed. Kira and Lacus were on their way to see her, but before they arrived, she asked him to come.

He entered her bedroom, reassuring himself he would be in full possession of his emotions. It had been years. He survived her engagement. He survived her marriage. Now that she is a mother, he would survive it all too. He’s stronger now. Defenses fortified; immunized.

But she looked up at him when he entered the room, hair slightly disheveled, face a little pale. Still she smiled like she always did, never failing to let him know she appreciated his presence. And then she asked him to sit close to her so he could see her son.

It was quiet in her room, late afternoon sunlight filtering through her grand windows. He sat there in silence. He once saw the same scene in his dreams. He was supposed to start a family with her. They had talked about it a long time ago. But that was then, this was now—the reality. And he is much stronger nowadays, he thought. There would be nothing to feel wistful about anymore.

But it broke him when she began to speak:

“I was waiting for you to fight for me, you know. Because I was ready to fight for you. I was ready to fight tooth and nail for you. I loved you, I really did. And I wouldn’t let anyone take that away from me, I thought.”

She laid her hand on top of his and smiled. It was the sorrowful kind. But a few seconds passed, and she withdrew her hand. Turning to her son, she continued.

“But it’s alright now, Athrun. I think I’ll be okay.”

A tear down her cheek.

“I think I can move on now.”

Historically devastating diseases have been phased out as humans began to develop genetic defenses. Everyone learns it in primary school. It is a basic concept; a known fact. Inoculation worked—the act of deliberate infection in order to achieve immunization.

But he was still waiting to get better.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Please do leave feedback if you have the time! I'd really appreciate it. 
> 
> In other news, I'm currently working on two other fanfics. One is another Asucaga oneshot but it's not sad like this one! (I promise haha) The second one is a multi-chapter work that I'm about 15k words into writing. I want to finish it first before I start posting the chapters so no one is left hanging. But I'm working on it! 
> 
> Again, thank you for reading! I can't believe it has been years and years but I still love Athrun and Cagalli as much as I did when I was younger. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this little fanfic of mine.   
> Take care xo


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